Kitty smiled as she typed in the Master PC.
Kitty forget to ensure that she was aware of the changes she had already made, so had immediately forgotten what she had done to Scott and Emma.
Poor Emma.
While Kitty remembered being held prisoner by The White Queen and the Hellfire Club, any hatred of Emma was forgotten when she thought about what the Club had done to her, rewiring her brain and making her into a nymphomaniac. At first Emma had been Shaw's
plaything, until the X-Men had rescued her.
Kitty could still remember the rescue now. How a woman as confident as Emma had become nothing more than a crying child, begging for her Master when they had managed to separate them.
It was only right that ultimately it was Scott who rescued her. After all, he was nothing but a mega-prude and it was only until Professor X came back. Kitty was sure the Professor could fix Emma's twisted mind.
Not that Scott was doing that well looking after Emma. Some how Emma had managed to get "Property of Scott Summers" tattooed across her chest, much to Scott's dismay. And she was constantly in heat like a wild dog. Kitty giggled, she doubted Scott was doing
much to service her artificial amplified needs. She wondered if even Wolverine would be able to keep her satisfied though.
But she had the Master PC. She could fix Emma now. Maybe show Emma what she used to be. She wondered if Emma would even care though. Typing frantically, Kitty's face furrowed as each change she entered was rejected. "Profile Locked". She looked around the
interface, but could find no indication of how to unlock a profile, set or clear a password.
If she couldn't fix Emma, perhaps she could "fix" Scott. Loosen him up a bit. Make him give her what Emma really needed. Smiling Kitty flicked over to Scott's profile and began to type.
"Scott Summers is the new White King. He regards Emma as his property, his entitlement since ascending to the throne. Scott has not inhibitions about servicing or being serviced his property."
Kitty giggled as she saw the image of Scott morph and change. It wasn't only his clothes, his whole body seemed to be a little bulkier, his attitude a little more arrogant. That would do it. Emma deserved to have a bit of fun. Shame it wasn't real.
--
Scott stopped and frowned as his blue and yellow costume slowly morphed into a white pair of pants and white vest. It was unusual, but for some reason he found he didn't really care. After all, he was the Hellfire Club's White King, it was only natural that
he should were white, wasn't it? Despite a nagging feeling that something was not quite right at the back of his head, he couldn't fault his logic, even after going over it a couple more times.
Nor did anyone else in the Institute mind. After all, it was common knowledge that the only way Emma could be rescued was for Scott to claim the position of White King. Nobody apart from Scott or Emma remembered Scott as being anything else.
Marching forward with purpose, Scott continued to his quarters.
---
Emma could feel her Master getting closer and closer. His mind was like a lighthouse, illuminating the normal fog of the disappointment, self-doubt, hatred and loathing of ordinary people that normally filled the psychic plane. Her Master was different,
full of confidence, strength and authority.
But as much as she wanted him, as much as her body responded to simply the thought of him entering through the door, she knew something was wrong. She knew that only this morning the two of them had quarrelled. That before that, the two of them had been
to all intents and purposes enemies, and she knew that at some point, her actions had helped to kill the woman he loved.
But… it was all so confusing. He was her man. She was his woman. She was his property. A slave to serve her Master. It had to be mind control, it had to be. But… Emma was finding it all but impossible to summon up the will to fight it. Not when Master was
less than one minute away.
Her thoughts shattered like glass when the door opened and her Master stood before her. Most of her doubt disappeared in that instant. Somehow she knew this was what she was always wanted. To be naked and kneeling before her Master.
He scooped down, his jar pressing against hers, his stubble pricking and burning her face as she opened her mouth and allowed her Master entry, his tongue forcefully circling inside her mouth, his hand pressing her head against his. Emma welcomed the invader,
her cunt itching eagerly as she relished the feeling of her Master inside her.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended. Her Master grabbed her hair and pulled her away before letting go and straightening his stance once more. He smiled as he looked down at his property; wide open eyes, smothered in mascara; thick cock-sucking
lips covered in an ice-blue gloss; huge, fake tits jutting out from her chest like two oversized basketballs with brands marking her has his property and a smooth, full round butt just made for punishment.
Emma almost cried when she looked up at him, his lithe powerful form towering over her, and casting a shadow on her unworthy self. She knew this was where she belonged, at his feet, or other similar variations; beneath him, beside him, against him… her life
only had meaning when she was with him. Her Master.
"Well Slut, what did I say before?" he asked, making Emma panic. Had she disappointed him in some way? And then she remembered, she was to worship his magnificent cock.
"Use your mouth." He commanded.
Nodding, Emma caught the white leather strap between her teeth and pulled, her hands pressed against his firm thighs. The belt began to unfasten, but stopped. Whimpering, Emma tried again, this time successfully releasing the buckle from the belt. A few
more tugs and his white leather pants were fully open, Emma teasing the loose waistline down with her teeth to pool around his knees.
He wore no undergarments, and immediately Emma was assaulted by his wonderful musk, the unmistakable scent of her Master. She associated the scent not only with him, but also with strength, power and authority. She felt her bald pussy twitch and her mouth
water in hunger as once more she took in his scent, as she brushed her nose against the bloated mushroom on his rigid cock.
His cock was huge - thick, long, straight and proud, decorated with two low-handing, cum-churning balls. No wonder her Master was so confident and authorative, his man-meat oozed the same qualities.
Carefully her hands still braced against his (now bare) thighs, Emma kissed the head, her head tilting from side to side as she did so. It was important that she showed her Master's love-mast the respect it deserved before she began her worship properly.
It was time for the worship to begin. Scooping down, Emma took turns in sucked each of his heavy balls, taking each into her mouth fully and tickling it with her tongue as she did so, making her Master moan softly and leg muscles softly tremble. Encouraged
by his unspoken feedback, Emma alternated between his two balls, taking each so deeply into her mouth that her nose was pressed against his thick, wiry pubic hair.
God, her cunny was twitching like an addict in withdrawal now, her smooth bare lips dribbling her own love-honey down her inner thighs.
Satisfied that she had tended to his balls enough, she slowly licked up his veined rigid shaft from its base to its tip, thrusting her tongue deep inside his piss-slit when she reached his rocket head. His crown had a strong, bitter taste, but unmistakably
his. His musk was everywhere, in her mouth, up her nose. She felt as if she was surrounded by her Master. No, that she was buried by her Master. How she longed to feel his weight on top of her.
But her Master had given her a job to do. Widening her jaw, she took the tip of his tool into her mouth, her shiny, smooth lips pushing the precious pole away from her teeth as she took his length inside her. His hands came down and grasped at the back of
her head, pushing her down until his fat cock-head was pushing painfully against the back of her throat. Gagging, Emma was unable to breathe correctly, her throat full and her nose buried deep within the thick forest of his pubic hair. But her Master liked
to hold her their, his strength easily holding her head as steady as a vice as she struggled for air. But Emma didn't protest, or fight. The knowledge that her Master held so much power over her, that his magnificent love-gun could just as easily end her worthless
life as pleasure her always drove her over the edge.
In a lust driven frenzy, Emma gladly gulped down all of her Master's shaft, her head frantically bobbing up and down, the globes of her huge, fake tits pressing themselves against Scott's thighs, the thick, pastel-pink nipples digging into his skin like
diamonds. Her Master still held onto her head, but it was only to guide her, help her set the speed and depth of her oral thrusts.
Not that she needed her Master to do so, nor that she needed her telepathy.
Emma could "read" her Master like no other. Every muscular tremble, every soft moan, every guttural growl. She knew exactly how far her Master was from cumming, and knew exactly how to prolong his experience. Her own satisfaction or desires meant nothing.
All that mattered was worshipping her Master, and ensuring his own pleasure lasted.
So Emma serviced her Master, sometimes slowing down, sometimes speeding up, sometimes pausing and swirling her tongue around his big, purple, swollen glands. All the time, she kept her Master on the verge of release.
"Did you think I was just going to blow my wad down your throat and that would be it?" he snarled, "Get up, you dizzy bitch and bend over."
Emma started to rise to her feet, but her Master grabbed her arm and yanked her up, making Emma stumble as he twisted her around and thrust her over the nearest armchair. He grunted unintelligibly, a primal statement of approval as he kicked at her bare
ankles with his heavy booted left foot, making Emma separate her legs.
His hands wrapped around her thin waist, he thrust his cock deep inside her sopping wet pussy, making Emma moan in pleasure as her cunny muscles flexed and writhed deep inside her, working and grasping instinctively on her Master's tool. His thrust filled
as much of her creamy cunt as it could, his jizz-ready balls swaying wildly and slapping against Emma's legs as his pubic hair flattened itself against her slick snatch, her love-nectar sticking and matting the hairs together.
"Stupid, Slut. Did you not think I would want to fuck my slave? Remind her of her place?" he growled as he withdrew, "Show her that's she's nothing by my fuck-toy?" His voice rose on the last two words as she once more thrust himself deep inside his willing
slut-slave.
Emma came almost instantly with the second thrust, her body no longer being able to fight against the sensations it was feeling. The weight of her Master against her with each of his powerful thrusts; the rough rubbing of the chair's fabric against her sensitive,
teats, her surgically enhanced boobs scraping themselves against the chair's seat; the immobile grip around her waist, holding her in place and preventing escape even if she desired it and finally the constant mocking of her Master, reminding her that she
was nothing but his unworthy slut.
With a roar of animalistic triumph, her Master came, flooding her tunnel and womb with his seed. Emma screamed his name. At that moment, her Master was everything. Her Master, her lover, her torturer and… her God. Yes, her God! Her vision faded to purple
as she climaxed time after time after time, each time her body jerking as it flushed redder and redder.
Now that the sex was over, Scott casually withdrew from Emma's twitching body, slapped her butt hard and pushed her to the floor while he pulled up his pants and sat on the couch, his hand already reaching for the remote.
When his slut recovered, he'd get her to make him some dinner. But for now, Sports were on TV.